


The Demolished Man

by InsaneTrollLogic



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse, Gen, The Demolished Man, with apologies to Alfred Bester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneTrollLogic/pseuds/InsaneTrollLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic holds the world together and Merlin holds the magic. Only the world has split itself apart at the seams and Merlin is nowhere to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. initiation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for the apocalypsebigbang on LJ 4/15/2011. Inspired by Alfred Bester's **The Demolished Man**
> 
> Art by the fabulous thisissirius: [[Link](http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/648612.html)]

Morgana twists in her bed, back arching as the vision tears through her. She’s used to the raging night terrors telling tales of futures not yet past, to monsters tearing Arthur in two, to scattered images of Gwen’s tears and Camelot in ruins. But it’s not the screams that wake her tonight.   
  
It’s the silence. The vast fields of black that smother all sound, all sight, all life. It swallows her screams, her person and the whole of Camelot; maybe the whole of the world.  
  
When she wakes up it’s a full twenty minutes before she can talk, before she's aware of Gwen’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, before she can hear the whispered platitudes. “It’s going to be all right. It’s just a dream. I’m here.”  
  
The stars outside her window are unusually bright tonight.  
  


***

  
  
“Don’t worry, Morgana,” Gaius says, just like he always says. “It’s just a dream. A nightmare. I’ll prepare a stronger sleeping draught.”  
  
She wonders sometimes what this potion would do to her if she continued taking it. She’d stopped months ago when Gwen had tried and failed to rouse her three consecutive mornings. If the draughts have been increasing in intensity since then, it is entirely possible that the small collection she has hidden under her floorboards is enough to kill a man.   
  
And still Gaius prescribes them stronger.  
  
“I don’t want it,” she says for the thousandth time. “It doesn’t work. I have no use for it.”  
  
“Morgana.”  
  
“Aren’t you going to ask me about my dreams? You always see fit to prescribe me your potions, but you never ask about my dreams.”  
  
“They’re only nightmares, Morgana.”  
  
Not for the first time, she hates him. Hates that he can stand there and lie to her face and hates even more that he’s been doing the same for years. Times like this, she can barely stand the sight of him.  
  
The door opens and Merlin strides in. Gaius glances toward him and back to Morgana like he’s uncomfortable with this secret he’s keeping, but Morgana is not so stupid as to think her dreams are actually a secret. She’s been waking the castle with her screams for far too long for them to remain hidden. Which means Gaius must realize that there is something besides nightmares at work, some secret worth guarding. Gwen knows she suspects her nightmares to be premonitions, as does Gauis. Morgana cannot think of a soul more worthy of guarding this secret than Merlin, but still she cannot tell him directly. “Would you like to know what I dreamt about, Gaius?” she asks the physician, her eyes trained on Merlin. “Nothing. I dreamt there was never-ending nothing. No people. No Camelot. Nothing.”  
  
Merlin freezes, rooted to the spot as what little colour in his cheeks seeps out. “No Camelot,” he whispers like it’s the worst thing in the world. Morgana can’t help but think the statement short sighted. She would gladly see Camelot burn if it meant the fate could be avoided for the rest of creation. He recovers after a moment but there’s something knowing in his eyes when he says, “Nothing like that will ever happen, Morgana. I won’t let it.”  
  
That does more to calm her mind than any of Gaius’s potions.  
  
She quashes the little voice in her head that wants to draw connections leading from dreams, to magic, to darkness to Merlin.  
  


***

  
  
Camelot is under attacked. It seems like Camelot is always under attack these days.   
  
But it’s different this time. Even before the battle, she can feel it. It’s the precursor to madness, to emptiness. Magical foes seem to pour out of every crevice and each friend slain rises up again to join the enemy. It’s so bad that no one notices when Morgana takes up a sword herself and joins the fray.   
  
She’s not close enough to the heart of the fight that she can effect the outcome, but she watches as the inevitable pieces start to slot themselves together. Arthur is about to be overrun and Merlin is pushing his way toward him a pale twisted hand lands on his back. Arthur falls. Merlin scream.  
  
The whole of Camelot can hear Merlin’s scream. It’s deafening, raw, and undeniably  _powerful_. He screams so loud, the castle shakes, the air resounds with his voice and the enemy is blasted into oblivion.   
  
Morgana, who is watching Merlin rather than the aftermath sees him shatter. One minute he’s there and the next he’s splintering into a thousand pieces scattered through the corpse-filled streets of Camelot, the scream still resounding through the air.  
  
It takes Morgana a minute to really hear him, to decipher the sheer amount of pain, anger and  _magic_  in his tone to get to the  _words_. It’s not a spell Merlin screams to win the battle: it’s a name.  
  
“ _Arthur!_ ”  
  


***

  
  
The clean-up is terrible, worse than the battle itself. The corpses sit, festering, on the streets as the surviving families search tirelessly for the faces of their own. Arthur is confined to bed rest but after only a day he drags himself to his feet to join the search parties.  
  
Uther blames the attacks on sorcery. He is convinced that the one who started this and the one who ended it are the same but Morgana knows him to be wrong. Merlin’s secret brings with it a devastating clarity. The invisible hand that steers Camelot and Arthur is not an enemy but a friend. Uther would have him hanged if he knew.   
  
But Merlin is nowhere to be found. Morgana half suspects that he tore himself to pieces to save them, that he sacrificed himself so that Camelot and Arthur could live on. It’s a death befitting of a knight, worthy of legend, but it will fade to nothing because she is the only one that knows it. On the odd chance that Merlin still lives, she cannot, will not, betray his secret.  
  
The string of sleepless nights stretches out of necessity. Every capable man, woman, and child is put to work rebuilding regardless of station. Despite the circumstances, it is the most invigorating time of her life. When she finally finds it in her to sleep, she dozes off immediately, comforted by the fact that Merlin has heeded her vision and halted the crushing emptiness that awaited the future of her dreams  
  
But the dream returns; vast expanses of nothing choking the life from her.  
  
There’s no air.  
  
“Morgana! Morgana!” Gwen shouts. “Breathe, Morgana! I need you to breathe.”  
  
She chokes on air too thick for her starved lungs. It’s a little bit like trying to drown someone who’s just been dying of thirst. Her breathing normalizes after a moment and even as Gwen hugs her tight, she thinks of Merlin screaming as he shatters, taking an army of dead with him; thinks of Arthur still searching frantically for the corpse of his manservant; thinks of Gaius handing her a still stronger potion, promising her the dreams will stop soon.  
  
She looks up over Gwen’s shoulder, out the window where the full moon bathes Camelot in its eerie, yellow glow, but there’s something wrong with the picture. It takes her a moment to figure it out. “Gwen,” she asks shakily. “What happened to the stars?”  
  
Gwen draws back, confusion written across her brow. “Milady?”  
  
“The stars, Gwen,” Morgana says. “It’s a cloudless night. I can see the moon with perfect clarity, but where are the stars?”  
  
“Are you sure you’re feeling quite well? These past few days have been a terrible stress on all of us.”  
  
“This has nothing to do with stress. It is simply a matter of fact. I know the moon is not alone in the night sky. What happened to the stars?”  
  
Gwen fixes her with a stare that is both serious and pitying. “Milady, there are no stars. It’s only ever been the moon.


	2. demolition

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice greets her even before she makes it to Gaius’s room. “Merlin, I just want to know where he might have been during the battle. I’d ordered him to safety but heaven knows he’s too much of an idiot to even follow that simple order.”  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Gaius bristles as Morgana eases the door open.   
  
“Who I’m talking about?” Arthur repeats, voice rising. “Merlin! Merlin, with his great stupid ears and his idiotic smiles. My manservant. Your assistant. Merlin! Have you gone completely mad?”  
  
“Arthur,” Morgana says sharply. “Don’t speak to him like this.”  
  
“Lady Morgana.” Gaius shuffles toward her, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“I’m afraid that much like the prince, I’m attempting to ascertain the location of Merlin.”  
  
“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin,” Gaius says. “It’s as though the two of you are conspiring to play a trick on me. I’ve never heard the name in my life.”  
  
“There is no trick!” Arthur explodes. “Merlin! He’s been here for months. He lives in your spare room.”  
  
“My study houses nothing but books, notes and a cot for the exceptionally ill.”  
  
Arthur draws a deep breath, anger growing in his features. His hand is on his belt, compulsive clutching for the space that usually houses his sword. Morgana puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “If it’s not too much trouble, Gaius, may we examine your spare room?”  
  
“Of course.” Gaius does not look happy at the prospect, but the crown prince and the king’s ward are not people easily refused.   
  
“Come on, Arthur,” Morgana says, tugging him in the right direction and closing the door behind them. Arthur stands against the wall, looking slightly dazed.  
  
“Arthur.” Morgana spins back toward the prince. “Arthur, you have to tell me what’s different. I’ve never been in here before.”  
  
“He’s not here,” Arthur says, eyes flickering around the room. “There’s not a single trace of him. The place is so  _neat_. This isn’t Merlin’s room.”  
  
“Arthur.”  
  
“I couldn’t find him when I was searching through the bodies,” Arthur says. She’s known him for well over half his life, she’s seen him enchanted, embarrassed and devastated but she’s never see him look quite so  _lost_. “Face after face and all I could think was that I was happy none were his. I couldn’t find him so I thought maybe he’d gotten away. But Merlin’s not here. He’s not anywhere.”  
  
He topples a neatly stacked pile of Gaius’s books onto the floor, the pages cascading out like a windstorm. He’s shaking by the time he recovers his voice enough to speak. “My father told me today that I never had a manservant. That I’d refused all those appointed to me. He said he’d never heard the name Merlin.” He turns to face Morgana. “None of my surviving knights have heard of him either. Perhaps it’s not them who’ve gone mad. Perhaps it’s me.”  
  
“Arthur,” Morgana says, stepping toward him. “I saw him on the battlefield.”  
  
Some of the terror drains from his features. “You saw him? You know him?”  
  
“Of course I know Merlin. We went to Ealdor for Merlin, remember? He the only one around who doesn’t treat you like a prince but he’s completely devoted to you. He’s one of the truest friends either of us have ever had.”  
  
“But he’s not here.”  
  
“I saw him during the battle.”  
  
“And did he fall?”  
  
“I think he may have.” Morgana looks to floor. “But before that I think he ended it.”  
  
“Ended it? Merlin? He’s useless with a blade. There’s no way he ended something that killed more than half of my men."  
  
Morgana hesitates. This is not her secret to tell but Arthur is half-mad with grief. They need to figure this out. Between the stars and Merlin, there is something lurking here that has everything to do with magic. “I do not know what to make of it. I fear him dead.”  
“If you saw him fall, how did he stop it? He couldn’t have if he were dead.”  
  
“The attacks were magic,” Morgana says, “it is entirely possible that they could only be undone using magic.”  
  
“I know. My father is searching for the sorcerer as we speak.”  
  
 _Figure it out_ , Morgana wants to say.  _I can’t tell you so you need to figure it out for yourself._  
  
“What happened to Merlin,” Arthur continues, still wilfully ignorant. “How did he fall?”  
  
“He didn’t so much fall as shatter, Arthur. He stopped the magic but he splintered in the process.”  
  
“What do you mean splintered?”  
  
“Whatever he did, I don’t think it worked. Not completely anyway. There is something broken here. Can’t you feel it? It’s as if the air itself tastes wrong. Merlin’s  _gone_. Gaius doesn’t remember him and just last night Gwen swore to me that there were no such things as stars in the sky.”  
  
“As what?”  
  
“The stars, Arthur. The stars. How in the world do you navigate at night without them?”  
  
“You say these stars have disappeared as Merlin has?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And you’re the only one who remembers?”  
  
“I was hoping not the only one.”  
  
“I don’t remember stars,” Arthur confesses. “But I believe you. Perhaps this is the best we can hope for.” He touches the edge of the cot, face oddly contemplative. “We need to talk to Gaius again. Sorcery of this magnitude is bound to leave traces.”  
  
Morgana cannot help but think it has already left traces. That she and Arthur are the only ones not wholly swallowed by the spell’s influence. She opens her mouth to voice the thought but Arthur is already moving back out into Gaius’s laboratory, intent on taking his search elsewhere.   
  
Gaius regards them both like he’s seen a ghost. “Where the devil did you come from?”  
  
“Merlin’s room,” Arthur says slowly. He realizes his mistake after only a second and corrects himself with, “The spare room. You told us we could search it.”  
  
“I don’t have a spare room.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Morgana says. “Of course you have a spare room. We were just…”  
  
She turns around, intending to gesture toward the door as an example but finds nothing but a smooth wall. Arthur follows her gaze, moving forward to trace what should be the doorframe. “This is impossible,” he hisses. “It was right here. I know it was right here.”  
  
Gaius arches his eyebrows and Morgana can tell Arthur is tensing up in anticipation of an altercation. “Thank you, Gaius,” she says slowly. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion. We’ll leave you to your work.”  
  
In the hallway, Arthur heaves a sigh. “It’s sorcery.”  
  
 _It’s Merlin_ , Morgana wants to answer.  
  
“Of course it’s sorcery, though I cannot fathom a reason for a sorcerer to unmake the world.”  
  
“Sorcerers are evil.” Arthur says, his father’s absolute certainty in every syllable. She wants to rage at him. He’s supposed to be smarter than this. He’s supposed to be the king the whole of Camelot is waiting for: kind, wise and fair. It’s no wonder Merlin never thought to take the gamble and trust a man who sounds like Uther’s mouthpiece.  
  
“I highly doubt an entire people can be evil solely because of magic. But even if they were, I expect evil still needs some place to live. Unmaking the world is senseless even for the most black hearted magician.”  
  
“But the world is unravelling,” Arthur drops his voice as a passing servant bustles by them. “Tell me this, why start with Merlin?”  
  
“It’s probably because he was the one who stopped the magic during the fight.”  
  
Arthur nods distractedly, moving toward the great hall. “We must alert my father. Sorcery is at hand.”  
  


***

  
King Uther is at council when they find him, discussing preparations in wake of the battle. Precious few of the knights remain and if an enemy of Camelot should decide to attack, the city would be nearly defenceless.   
  
It almost pains Morgana to add sorcery to the mix. The king is maniacal about sorcery. It may tempt him to commit resources that they do not have.   
  
“Father,” Arthur announces, “Morgana and I have a matter of gravest urgency we must call to your attention.”  
  
“Graver than the safety of Camelot?”  
  
Arthur falters but Morgana steps smoothly to take over. “We suspect it to be graver than the safety of all of Albion. A matter of sorcery.”  
  
Uther raises his eyes in interest. “Speak your mind.”  
  
“I—we suspect that some sorcerer has endeavoured to unmake the whole of reality.”  
  
“Serious allegations if there is proof.”  
  
“The disappearance of my manservant, Merlin,” Arthur says.  
  
“Preposterous. You have no such servant and have not since you dismissed your last one more than a year ago. I have no time for this. We are discussing manners of defence. The borders with Mercia must be reinforced and there is the matter of providing burial services for those who lost their lives in the fight.”  
  
“I understand the necessity, father, but is it not strange that I remember this servant while you do not?”  
  
Uther looks slightly more interested by that and Morgana, sensing that this could be her opportunity, leaps forward to add, “It’s not just Arthur. I remember the servant as well and have noted something more serious still. The heavens themselves have begun to change. The stars are no longer among us.”  
  
There is a smattering of laughter through the council that Uther silences under his glare. “While I do not for a second believe something so fanciful, I can tell that you both do. Which means some matter of sorcerer has enchanted you.”  
  
Arthur opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. Morgana has never been more impressed with his restraint.  
  
Uther continues, “I would like every available knight to search the town for this magician.”  
  
“Every knight?” Arthur interrupts. “But, father, were you not just saying that we needed to shore up our borders? Mercia has been unusually active recently and surely after such a catastrophic battle, we must be wary.”  
  
“Mercia? Battle?” Uther repeats. “Has the sorcerer’s influence spread even farther then a phantom manservant? Camelot is the only kingdom in the region and we’ve been prosperous for many seasons.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes widen as he looks to Morgana for confirmation and strength. She nods once and scans the faces of those assembled for another soul aware of the world unravelling at their feet.  
  
She finds instead a man standing unnoticed in the corner. She is sure it must be a man because he seems to be watching her, his body canted toward her and Arthur, but he can’t be watching because he has no eyes to speak of. Nor does he have a nose or a mouth. She hears herself gasp, entranced by the image in front of her.  
  
“Morgana,” Arthur says.   
  
“Look,” she hisses, voice scarcely above a whisper. She extends a finger toward the man. “You see him, right?”  
  
Arthur’s eyes widen, putting his hand toward his sword. It takes her a moment to realize everyone is watching them, looking back and forth from Arthur to The Man With No Face. But no one besides Morgan and the prince can see anything wrong with the man’s countenance. Arthur’s hand closes on the hilt of his blade and almost in unison, the whole of Uther’s court follows.  
  
“We need to get out of here,” Morgana says.  
  
Uther pulls himself to his feet.   
  
Arthur seems unwilling to give up, like he is ready to challenge his father for the right to lead. Morgana grabs his arm. “Merlin,” she hisses in his ear. “You anger your father and we’re not going to be able to help him.”  
  
Arthur straightens. “Father, I would like your permission to track this sorcerer.”  
  
“Of course,” Uther says. “See that he is found at once. It cannot be seen that any son of mine has been bewitched. I will not have you falling prey to some sorcerer’s diabolical plot.”  
  
The Man With No Face turns his head as if watching them leave.  
  


***

  
  
Morgana goes to the library while Arthur combs the lower town with the remainder of his knights. Morgana pours through book after book, looking for some kind of clue, but half of the books are empty by the time she gets to them and other disappear the instant she reaches for them on the shelf.   
  
She reads--or at least attempts to read--for hours and by the time she leaves there is no one manning the desk, Geoffrey not there to scold her for replacing the books in different shelves. His disappearance chills Morgana to the bone.  
  
Arthur is on the practise field when she finds him, pummelling an old practice dummy with his sword. There’s rage tearing across his face but also something suspiciously like tears. Morgana watches him for a long moment before making her presence known. “No luck then.”  
  
He whirls toward her, sword drawn. She fears attack for a moment before his eyes betray him. “They’ve not heard of him, Morgana. Not a soul in the lower town knows the name Merlin.”  
  
“Perhaps they are still distraught in the aftermath of the battle.”  
  
Arthur’s brow creases. “What battle?”  
  
It’s only then that Morgana sees it. History is unravelling for Camelot’s prince just the same as his people. But Arthur, ever stubborn, clings to the memories of Merlin. “Never mind the battle,” Morgana snaps. “You must realize though that it’s not just Merlin’s who’s disappeared. The whole world’s unravelling and I appear to be the only one who can keep all the facts in my mind at once.”  
  
“What proof do you have that your story is true?” Arthur challenges.  
  
“Half of the books on the library’s shelves are gone. Even more of them are empty. The librarian is likewise gone. ”  
  
In fact, it’s only the books on magic that remain. The books on magic and a single shield in the books of nobility belonging to a Lancelot Du Lac. Lancelot who had been Merlin's friend. She knows the implications but it has never been her secret to tell.  
  
Arthur nods. “I don’t remember there ever being a librarian but it sounds alarmingly close to what happened to Merlin.”  
  
“It’s all part of the whole,” Morgana says. “The world is tearing itself apart. It started to shatter the instant that Merlin fell.”  
  
Arthur plants his sword firmly in the ground and leans on it, looking as tired and worn as Morgana has ever seen. There’s a long moment when neither of them talk before Arthur swallows and struggling to keep his voice light says, “You know we can’t actually disappear into one of our chambers to discuss this. There’s going to be talk.”  
  
Morgana fights back a smile at this small flicker of levity. She wants to return it with some of her own but what comes back is tinged black with the gravity of the situation. “Are you really so ashamed that you can’t be in a room alone with me even after the whole of reality has begun to unravel?”  
  
There’s a bit of a smile playing on Arthur's lips. “Of course I’m ashamed,” he says. “The idea that anyone would mistake us for a pair is outrageous.” The smile fades quickly and he draws his sword up to sheath it. “We should meet at Gwen’s house. That is if you think she won’t mind.”  
  
The solution is so painfully simple that Morgana curses herself for not having thought of it. “No, of course she wouldn’t. She adores Merlin.”  
  
The sombre air has settled back over Arthur like a fog. “If she even remembers him.”  
  
“We’ll soon find out. We should be there at sundown.”  
  


***

  
  
There are no guards at the gate of the castle. In fact, there’s barely a gate to speak of. The castle is shrinking and the only thing preserved in perfect detail is the executioner’s block in the courtyard.   
  
The night is uncomfortably warm and supremely bright—especially considering the starless sky.  
  
Morgana makes it to Gwen’s house an instant before Arthur does. She had not seen him on her way here but as far as she can tell, there is only one remaining route to the house. Arthur looks equally surprised to see her there but it’s not enough to stop his resolve and he knocks three times in quick succession on Gwen’s door. Gwen edges the door open after only a second, not enough to reveal more than a sliver of her face. “You weren’t followed, were you?”  
  
“By whom?” Morgana asks.  
  
The crack in the door widens just a bit. “He has no name.”  
  
“Everything has a name,” Arthur says. “Perhaps you’ve only forgotten as the rest of the world has.”  
  
Gwen takes another look up and down the street and then opens the door quickly to let them inside. “The Man With No Face,” she says, shutting the door behind them. “I call him The Man With No Face.”  
  
Arthur stops moving. Morgana feels the colour drain out of her face. “But we’ve seen him. In Uther’s court. Who is he and what does he want?”  
  
“He’s after someone,” Gwen says, pressing her eyes shut. “A boy. I helped him out of the city only yesterday.”  
  
“A boy,” Morgana whispers, thinking of Mordred. “What was his name?”  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t remember.” Gwen moves briskly away from the door and toward her table. “He was scarcely more than six years old. I couldn’t let him be taken. He was just a little boy.”  
  
Morgana catches Arthur’s eye just long enough to confirm that this is someone they need to help as well. It didn’t matter if it was Merlin or not. If The Man With No Face wanted him, they needed to keep him safe. “Where did you take him?”  
  
Gwen lowered her eyes. “Ealdor, milady.”  
  
“Ealdor,” Morgana repeated. “But that’s quite a ride. How did you ever manage to get all the way there and back in the past day?”  
  
“It’s not a long ride, milady.”  
  
Morgana frowned. “But it took the four of us nearly a week last time.”  
  
“Four of us?” Gwen echoes, the confusion written clearly on her face.  
  
Arthur turns away in disgust. “Yes, the four of us! How could you forget?”  
  
“Arthur, it’s not her fault,” Morgana snaps, moving the curtains aside to peer out at the darkened street. “She can’t help what’s happening to her any more than we can stop it.”  
  
“I’m sorry, milady, happening to me? Is something happening to me?”  
  
“It's nothing, Gwen,” Morgana says quickly. “Don’t worry about a thing.”  
  
“What aren't you telling me?”  
  
“We’re looking for Merlin,” Arthur cuts in, ever forthright. “Do you know where he might be?”  
  
“Who’s Merlin?”  
  
“He’s my---” Arthur starts but falls short of finishing the thought. “If you don’t know who he is, you won’t really be of help to us, Guinevere. I’m sorry.”  
  
“We’ll be heading to Ealdor in the morning,” Morgana says. “Perhaps we’ll be able to find answers about The Man With No Face if we find the boy. I’m quite certain this is all related.”  
  
She catches Arthur nodding. At this moment, they have no better explanation. Merlin is nowhere, and if her instincts are right, Camelot is in danger. No matter how worried Arthur is, Camelot will always be his first priority. Even if losing Merlin is an option.  
  
The stand staring at one another in silence for a long moment before Arthur says quietly, “I don’t want to go back to the castle again. Not without Merlin there.”  
  
It’s such a blatantly raw statement that Morgana knows Gwen won’t refuse him even if she doesn’t understand.  
  
“Would it be all right if we stayed here for the night?" Morgana asks. "You are more than welcome to say no of course, but it would save us the trouble of sneaking out of the castle tomorrow.”  
  
“Of course,” Gwen says. “You need only to ask. I will prepare a bed for you.”   
  
“I don’t need one,” Arthur says and Gwen looks up in shock. “I highly doubt I will sleep tonight.”  
  
“Don’t put yourself out because of me,” Morgana admonishes. “I’m quite comfortable to sleep on the floor. We’re the ones imposing on you.”  
  
Gwen bows slight. “Thank you.”  
  
Morgana drifts off to sleep later than she would like, Gwen’s gentle snores lulling her into a state of comfort. Arthur spends the evening scribbling furiously onto a parchment under the dim light of a waning candle. The silence is back in her dreams, the deep depths of nothingness that force themselves down her throat and rob her of her breath.  
  
She wakes up Arthur whacking her on the back, his face ashen. She blinks owlishly at him. “What on Earth are you doing?”  
  
“Morgana!” he cries and pulls her into a tight embrace. Over his shoulder she can see Gwen crying.   
  
He hasn’t touched her like this since their youth, when they were just children not yet bound but the court. It’s a comfort in more ways than one. Arthur has always been the brother she’s never had. “What happened?”  
  
Arthur pulls back but doesn’t let go, like he needs the tangible grip on her arm to assure himself that she’s still there.  
  
“You were choking,” Gwen says. “We didn’t know what to do.”  
  
“You’re all right now.” Arthur croaks.   
  
“It was my dream,” Morgana says.  
  
“I’ll be sure to get the sleeping draught from the castle if you would like to wait here before you set out,” Gwen offered. “It would be no hardship at all.”  
  
“No, Gwen. Thank you, but no.”  
  
“You're not leaving,” Arthur whispers in her ear. “Not after Merlin. I don’t think I could stand to lose you as well.”  
  
Outside the bells chime. Gwen lets a flash of anger flicker past her features. She still hasn’t forgiven Uther her father’s death but she hides the anger for Arthur’s sake.  
  
They all know what the bells mean.  
  
“Who’s he executing this time?” Morgana asks aloud. “He can’t have had time to convict anyone since yesterday.”  
  
“You think perhaps he’s found the sorcerer who has erased Merlin?” Arthur jolts to his feet, snatching the parchment and folding it carefully into the same belt that held his sword like it was precious. “We must go see.”  
  
He’s out the door before Morgana has a chance to protest. All she and Gwen can do is trail after him, hiking up their dresses for ease of motion. Arthur’s standing dumbstruck in the mess of commoners in the courtyard when they reach him. It's just in time to see the executioner tear the sack off the man’s head.  
  
Just in time to realize it’s not just anyone standing on the execution’s block. It’s a familiar pale, wild-eye boy with a mess of dark hair.   
  
“Merlin!” Arthur cries, lunching toward the block.  
  
But he doesn’t even get halfway there before the axe falls.   
  
Time slows down. Arthur keeps screaming. Morgana turns away. There’s a collective gasp through the crowd, just a sharp intake of breath as the axe collides precisely with the neck and the head detaches. Gwen puts a hand over her mouth and then, out of the corner of her eyes, Morgana sees him again, The Man With No Face, standing halfway across the crowd. But his gaze for once isn’t on Morgana and Arthur, it is directed to a boy. A scrawny little thing of about six with dark hair and Merlin’s eyes who was watching the execution in horror. For an instant, Morgana thinks it’s Mordred but there is something off about the face. She tugs on Gwen’s sleeve, pointing toward the boy. “Gwen, do you know that child?”  
  
“But that’s him,” Gwen says. “That’s the boy I helped out of the city only yesterday.”  
  
Morgana doesn't wait. She simply darts to forward to catch Arthur by the shoulder. “We’ve got to go,” she cries. “There’s no  _time._ ”  
  
Arthur lets himself be dragged away from the execution, back toward the gates of the city where the boy is still standing rooted to the spot. His clothes are filthy and he looks like the worst of street urchins. “We’ve got to get him out,” Morgana hisses in his ears. “The Man With No Face has his sights on him.”  
  
That small sense of purpose is all Arthur needs. He propels himself into action, grasping the little boy by the hand, adding, “I’m Prince Arthur and we’ve got to get you out of here right now.”  
  
The boy looks at Arthur, shell shocked and then over where he caught the sight of The Man With No Face. “Run,” he hisses at the boy and just like that the two of them are off, moving in tandem. The boy is light on his feet and able to duck through any obstacle. Arthur, of course, is crown prince of Camelot more than fit. Morgana trails after them, knowing in her heart that they’ll end up in Ealdor. The Man With No Face pursues, gliding through the crowd with the ease of a phantom.   
  
Gwen squeezes her arm. “Go after them then. I’ll be fine here by myself.”  
  
“But I don’t want to leave you.”  
  
“I may just be a servant,” Gwen says, drawing herself up, “but I do know destiny when I see it.  _Go, Morgana._ ”  
  
She catches them at the gates of the city, but only because Arthur has come to a standstill, staring blankly at what used to be the forest. “But that’s impossible,” he mumbles. “It can’t have just left.”  
  
There is no forest beyond Camelot’s gates just a smattering of trees and past that, a village. Morgana squints at it. “Is that Ealdor?”  
  
The boy is still clutching Arthur’s hand, so close to the prince that he appears to be glued to his leg. “Yes,” Arthur says faintly. “Yes, that’s Ealdor, but what happened to the  _forest?_ ”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Morgana hisses. “We’ve got to get out of the city.”  
  
Except, she thinks as she picks her way through the trees, it really did matter because just hours ago, Arthur hadn’t remembered. Hadn’t been able to see the world unravelling unless Merlin had been there as well and that mattered.   
  
The prince hauls the boy up to his shoulder after he stumbles over some rocks. Morgana looks behind her to see that The Man With No Face had stopped his pursuit at the gates of Camelot. The boy clings to Arthur’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. Something cold washes over her and the ice doesn’t thaw when they reach the village.  
  
Arthur gently pries the boy from his neck and sets him to the ground. “You’re safe now,” he says. “I promise.”  
  
The boy nods mutely at him. Arthur smoothes an unruly strand of hair from the boy’s face. Morgana can’t help but think it fits him. This gentle protectiveness. He’s not only going to be a great king one day, but he will also be a great father.  
  
He is a far better man that Uther can ever hope to be.  
  
“What’s your name?” Arthur asks the boy.  
  
The boy chews on his lip for a moment before grinning and saying, “Merlin!”  
  
Morgana only barely catches the look of shock on his face before the boy has his hand again, tugging him in what she knows is the direction of his mother’s house. “You’ve got to meet my mum, Arthur. You’ll love her, she’s absolutely brilliant. Will’s probably here too but he doesn’t much like knights or ladies.” He glances back toward Morgana and she wonders how she could have possibly missed it before. Everything about this child screams Merlin even though Merlin was the one who had been beheaded in the square only seconds ago. “Come, Morgana! My mum always loves meeting my friends.”  
  
Arthur lets himself be dragged along, still half in shock when Hunith embraces him and thanks him profoundly for bringing her little boy back to her.   
  
Merlin finally detaches his hand from Arthur and the prince sags. Morgana hadn’t realized how lost he looked without his manservant. “Where did you find him?” Hunith puts a familiar hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I worry about him so much.”  
  
“He was in Camelot,” Morgana answers for him.  
  
“There was an execution,” Arthur says. His hands are clenched against the place where he’d tuck the rough scrap of parchment only last night. “He was watching his own execution.”  
  
Hunith’s face clouds and Morgana has the vague sort of notion that if anyone can tell them what’s happening right now, it’s Merlin’s mother. Merlin darts through the near empty village with a filthy brown haired boy who could only be Will.   
  
But Will is supposed to be dead. This place is nothing but a preserved memory.  
  
“Something’s wrong, you realise,” Morgana tries. “He shouldn’t still be this young.”  
  
“It is every mother’s secret wish to have her son be innocent forever,” Hunith says. “But no, I know. I mean that’s my Merlin out there plain as day but he’s not the person he’d grown into. But if my little boy walks back in here, I’ve got to do all I can to take care of him.”  
  
Arthur stands at the window, watching Merlin and Will outside, the two of them laughing together.   
  
“We’re trying to find out what happened,” Morgana says carefully. “We don’t know much but Merlin seems to be at the heart of it.”  
  
“You’re safe though,” Hunith replies with absolute certainty. “Even as a boy Merlin looked out for the people he loves. Myself, Will, the two of you. Gwen. Gaius. Merlin won’t let a thing come to any of you.”  
  
“If we don’t fix this, it may not be in his power to keep us all safe.” Morgana lowers her voice. “If there’s anything you may have heard. Anything about The Man With No Face?”  
  
Hunith shakes her head. “He’s a special boy.”  
  
Arthur’s hands fly to his sword, moving back toward the door with purpose.  
  
“What’s going on?” Morgana demands.  
  
“Sorcery,” Arthur says darkly and pushes open the door.  
  
Morgana exchanges a terrified look with Hunith and they both jolt to their feet trailing Arthur out the door.  
  
There’s a dragon made of midst in front of the two boys, soaring as if in flight. Both Will and Merlin are cackling in delight but it’s Merlin not Will with his hand outstretched. Arthur has his sword drawn, bellowing, “Where is he?”  
  
This will end badly. But it’s too late to stop.  
  
“The sorcerer!” Arthur bellows. “Where is he?”  
  
The two boys freeze; Will looking at the prince in anger, Merlin in fear.  
  
“Arthur!” Morgana cries.  
  
“Are you protecting him?” Arthur demands. “How could you harbour a sorcerer when you know what’s happening to this kingdom?”  
  
The sword wobbles toward the boys and Merlin steps in front of Will. “I thought you were good,” he says.   
  
“I am good,” Arthur retorts.  
  
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Merlin says, sticking his chin out defiantly. “I’ll stop you if you try to hurt us.”  
  
“You’ll stop me,” Arthur scoffs and then Morgana can pinpoint the moment that the realization sweeps over him. His whole body sags like and then all of a sudden he’s kneeling so he can look the boy in the eyes. “It’s you,” he says. “All this time, it was you.”  
  
Merlin back-pedals, clutching at Will’s arm for support. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Hunith signs heavily. “My little boy’s always been special.”  
  
Arthur scrambles to his feet, a valiant effort to restore his dignity. He turns to Hunith. “How long?”  
  
“He could move things with his mind before he could walk.” Hunith says. “There’s not an evil bone in his body, sire.”  
  
Shakily , Arthur sheaths his sword, moving toward Merlin with utmost care. Merlin flinches away. “It’s me, Merlin,” he says. “Arthur. We’re… we’re mates, remember? I wouldn’t hurt you. I just  _didn’t know_.”  
  
There’s a certain amount of pain in his voice and Morgana for the first time finds herself realizing just how much Arthur cared for his manservant. She supposes she should have figured it out sooner, maybe when he’d defied his father for a flower or when they’d ridden into the enemy’s kingdom for the sake of Merlin’s mother, but this, Arthur offering friendship after such an obvious display of sorcery, going against his father and his king with hardly a second though because it was  _Merlin_.   
  
Maybe the execution had seared itself into his mind. Maybe he’s always been like that but Morgana suddenly feels like an intruder in this moment. Hunith has already snuck back to her house to watch from the window. Will tries to tug Merlin back but the boy is already moving toward Arthur like he was enchanted. “We’re mates?” he echoes.   
  
“Of course,” Arthur says. “I’d never let anything hurt you.”  
  
“I’m your mate, Merlin!” Will shouts, trying to tug the other boy away. “He was just swinging a sword at us!”  
  
“I protect you,” Merlin says. “Not the other way around.”  
  
Arthur laughs. “Yes, I suppose you probably do. Though I’m the prince and it’s supposed to be my job to protect the people. It’s all right though. I forgive you.”  
  
Merlin gives him a brilliant smile, the very same one Merlin, the real Merlin, handed out with far too much trust and edges toward Arthur. He looks almost shy as he slips his hand into Arthur’s. Will behind him huffs and storms off. “Let’s go inside,” Arthur says.  
  
Even his voice sounds different. It’s like Merlin’s touch has slotted the world back into place. They could conquer the world, the two of them, and Morgana is loathe to admit, the world may actually be better for it.  
  
Not that there’s much world left.  
  
Merlin drags Arthur back into the house, chattering happily as he starts to perform small feats of magic for Arthur, showers of sparks that twist through the air, a spoon enchanted to dance a jig. The tricks are something that would enchant any young boy and though Morgana can tell by Arthur’s too-straight spin that the magic makes him nervous, he keeps it off his face and Merlin is none the wiser.   
  
“He’s split himself apart, hasn’t he?” Hunith asks.  
  
Morgana turns away from Arthur, blinking in surprise. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“It’s happened again. He was such a little boy the first time. I thought he’d grown out of it.”  
  
“This has happened before?”  
  
“When he was a child,” Hunith confirms. “Only about a year older than the little boy over there. Will’s father had died in one of the campaigns and Merlin decided he was going to fix it. Bring Will his father back. Finish the campaign before anyone else got hurt.”  
  
“Did it work?”  
  
“To an extent. Will got his father back however briefly, but Merlin, Merlin was demolished. It was all I could do to talk him back into one piece.”  
  
“What do you mean 'tore himself apart'?”  
  
Hunith worries the hem of her dress between her hands. “I mean just what it sounds like, milady. He tried something too big for even him and he split himself apart to finish. But the world can’t abide by that and it started to collapse around him.”  
  
“Wait,  _Merlin’s_  doing this?”  
  
“It certainly seems the most likely scenario.” Hunith casts a look over to her son. “Magic holds the world together after all and it’s always seemed to me that Merlin held the magic.”   
  
“You said the last time there were…  _pieces_ of him wondering about. It’s worse than that this time. Me and Arthur are the only ones who even remember him. The heavens themselves are being torn from existence. The world is shrinking.”  
  
Hunith turns back to Arthur and Merlin, the young boy yawning as he tucks himself into Arthur’s side. Arthur looks bewildered for the barest fraction of a second before putting his arm protectively around the boy. “Then I guess you’ve better find a way to put him back together.”  
  
The candle's light flickers ever so lightly as Arthur stares out the open window. He looks comfortable with Merlin asleep at his side. But then his gaze drifts out the window, his eyes widen and his back straightens. “Morgana,” he hisses. “The stars! What happened to the stars?”  
  


***

  
  
Morgana works it out.  
  
Arthur, sitting on the grubby floor in Merlin’s mother’s hut with the miniature version of his manservant tucked into his side can remember everything in perfect clarity. Morgana quizzes him about the battles, the days before she came to the castle and all the minute details of life before Merlin.  
  
The second he pries the boy’s arms off of him and moves him securely into the bed, it’s gone. He stands dazed, disoriented for a moment like he’s just woken up from a blow to the head. He doesn’t move back to the boy despite how much he obviously wants to, despite how badly the dearth of knowledge leaves him shaking, just sits across from Morgana and Hunith, clutching at the scrap of parchment he’d taken from Gwen’s house.  
  
Morgana, burning with curiosity steals it from his hands when he finally falls asleep. Hunith likewise has taken her rest and she’s alone when she unfolds the paper and stares at Arthur’s painfully familiar handwriting.  
  
Penmanship had always been one of Uther’s marks against him as Arthur had always valued many things more than writing. But there’s obvious care in this script, meaning etched into every letter. It’s a list of things Arthur and Merlin have done together. Morgana scans the first three entries and then folds it carefully up again, feeling like a trespasser. She moves to put it back when she realizes that Merlin’s tiny form has woken up and is staring blearily at her. “What’s that?” he asks through a yawn.  
  
Morgana hesitates for just a moment before offering Merlin a small smile. “It’s your adventures.”  
  
Merlin perks up. “Can I look?”  
  
“Can you read?” Morgana asks, surprised.  
  
“I’m getting better,” Merlin says like it’s the most natural thing in the world even though most peasants don’t have the faintest idea of how to read. “You could read it to me.”  
  
He stands there, all wide, pleading eyes and Morgana realizes that he could force her to read it to him if he chose to do so.   
  
Realizes that this little boy may be the most powerful being in the universe.   
  
“You’ll be able to remember them all for yourself after we put everything right again.”  
  
Merlin chews on his bottom lip, trying to muddle his way through the statement. “Something’s happened hasn’t it? The world feels funny and mum looks so sad.”  
  
“I’m afraid you’re right, but we’re going to fix it.” She reaches out to stroke a strand of Merlin’s hair out of his eyes.   
  
The instant her hand touches his skin, there’s a spark and she lets out a gasp as she feels the magic build up inside her, causing the flame of the candle to leap. Merlin shoots back from her. “You’ve got magic,” he says, half terrified, half awed.   
  
“Yes I have.”  
  
“You’ve got to hide it!” he says firmly, moving toward her. “Mum says you can’t show things like that! It’s dangerous if people can see you.”  
  
Morgana finds herself backing away from the boy almost instinctively, something clawing just at the edges of her understanding but in the end, this is still Merlin and she cannot find it in her to be afraid.   
  
“I’ll help you hide it.”  
  
Merlin’s hands are tiny and cold. When they connect with her wrist white explodes into her vision like a thousand lights from dying stars.


	3. reconstruction

Arthur wakes up in pieces. There is a warm body curled up beside him, attempting to burrow into his side and his first thought is that the floor smells like horse shite. The second is that he doesn’t know any children. The third doesn’t so much occur to him as annihilate him. The fragments of memory that only slide back into place when he’s in physical contact with Merlin jar his mind, scratching at the mental mindscape of Arthur Pendragon and leaving him raw.   
  
Merlin raises his head ever so slightly, as if stirred into awareness by the full force of Arthur’s panic. “Morning,” he chirps. “Are we going to play today?”  
  
Arthur ruffles his hair absently as he pulls himself to a sitting position so he can examine the tiny room. He can pick out Hunith asleep on her bed, but Morgana is nowhere in sight. “Morgana?” he calls into the dim morning light. He doesn’t like having anyone out of view when the world is unravelling at the seams.   
  
Merlin squirms out of his grip and Arthur is left grasping for tendrils of memory that escape into the air. “Morgana’s not here,” Merlin says decisively. “She had to hide herself away.”  
  
“Who’s Morgana?” Arthur asks even though there’s a voice in the back of his head screaming that he should already know.  
  
Shrugging, Merlin makes his way back toward him. “Doesn’t matter. Are we going to play today? I want to play knights and dragons!”  
  
“Oh,” Arthur says, amused. Merlin has never struck him as the type who would lust after knighthood but it’s somewhat gratifying to know that his calling was somewhat respected by his manservant. “You’re going to be a knight when you grow up are you?”  
  
Merlin nods and grins at him, the exact same grin the twenty-year old wore at the most inappropriate times, reminding him once and for all that Merlin was mentally a child.   
  
“I’ve got a better idea,” Arthur says. “How about we journey back Camelot? I can show you true knights.”  
  
The grin that stretches past Merlin’s face is truly a sight to behold. “Really? You'll show me the knights? Can I bring Will?”  
  
Something about Will nibbles at his mind, two boys and a whirlwind in the middle of the battle. One of them raised a hand, the other, watching. Which was which? He’d never been able to reconcile the scene in his mind and he still has problems with it now. Will, a sorcerer. It doesn’t  _fit_. “I don’t think so,” he says.  
  
The boy deflates but only for a moment before moving to wake up his mother, chattering happily about prospects about going to Camelot. Hunith listens indulgently, her eyes on Arthur instead of her son. She grants him permission and as her son moves back outside, she catches Arthur by the shoulder. “He’s torn himself apart. I’m not sure how much longer he will last in pieces.”  
  
“I’m going to get him back,” Arthur promises. No matter how charming he is as a boy, Arthur misses his own Merlin like a limb.   
  
There’s something else though. Something Important. Hunith looks at him sorrowfully as Merlin bounces around singing some ridiculous tune about Camelot. Arthur spends a long time looking at the list he’d scrawled of the scrap of parchment.  _Went to Ealdor with Morgana and Gwen._  
  
He doesn't know anyone named Morgana.   
  
He has never heard of a Gwen.  
  
They start walking.   
  
Arthur feels raw, like there’s a gaping wound inside of him. The pain only eases when Merlin grasps his hand and everything floods back. But then the sheer force of memory almost overwhelms him. Merlin touches his cheek, his pale face a mask of confusion. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“Morgana,” Arthur chokes. They’re almost to the gates of Camelot but the gates of Camelot are far closer than they should be, far less grand. “What happened to Morgana?”  
  
“I sent her to the white place,” Merlin says, simply. “She has to hide. The Man With No Face will be looking for her.”  
  
“Why don’t we have to hide too?” It sounds somewhat more important to him than The Man With No Face.  _Where is Morgana?_  
  
“I can hide you too if you like. It wants me most. It would have taken Morgana but it wants me.”  
  
“And why does it want you?”  
  
It’s a question he has instinctively avoided asking for almost two years now. Merlin is surrounded by so much of the danger and yet somehow, impossibly, Merlin always walks away from the danger.   
  
“I have magic,” Merlin says.  
  
The answer is devastatingly simple and in retrospect so thoroughly obvious that Arthur wonders how he could have possibly missed it. A thousand minute details from the past few years slot into place in his memories and even when Merlin tugs his had away, taking with him half of Arthur’s being, that single fact resounds.  
  
 _Merlin is magic. Merlin has magic._  
  
“Are you doing this somehow?”  
  
Merlin looks at him, eyes wide and then darts away into a crowd of townsfolk. They’re the same three people, repeated over and over, but it doesn’t seem strange at all.  
  
 _Focus,_  Arthur tells himself, the memories rush out of him the second Merlin leaves him but the single fact rings true in his head, imprinted there forever. _Merlin is a sorcerer._  
  
Merlin is also being marched out onto the executioner’s block. Grown-up Merlin. His Merlin who’d lied to him for years but no doubt saved his life time and time again. Merlin who is a sorcerer but is definitely not evil.  
  
And this has already happened. He knows this. He can remember it. He’d been in the crowd with… someone… but his father had raised his voice and declared: _“The boy has been found guilty of the crime of sorcery. The sentence, to be carried out immediately, is death by beheading.”_  
  
Almost the second the words had flicker through his mind, they're echoed in the real world and he has a jolt of clarity. “Stop,” Arthur says loudly and because he is crown prince of Camelot, everyone listens. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”  
  
His father looks down on him with an expression that, under normal circumstances, would have made Arthur shiver but this isn’t his father. This is a man in costume, a puppet playing out the same scene over and over.   
  
“Let him go,” Arthur demands to the executioner.  
  
“Arthur,” someone says. “Arthur you don’t need to.”  
  
It takes him a moment to realize it’s Merlin on his knees, his head on the cutting board. “Merlin, for God’s sake just shut up and let me get you out of this.”  
  
“I lied to you,” Merlin says. “I lied to you for ages.”  
  
And part of Merlin must believe that he deserves to be here for the sin of dishonesty. “Merlin,” he says. “Merlin, it’s  _fine_. You really think I’d toss you after everything?”  
  
Merlin pulls himself to his feet. The crowd has gone mute, the executioner stands rigid like he had never been alive. The entire scene is suspended. Merlin controls this, he realizes with a blinding certainty. Merlin controls this and I’ve stopped him cold. “You—you’re, you’re not…”  
  
“Oh, I am mad. And let me tell you, I’m going to make you pay for this but not right here and not right now.”  
  
Merlin’s eyes grew round, and the executioner started moving again, checking the edge of his blade. Arthur seizes Merlin by the arm and hauls him to his feet. “For God’s sake, Merlin, I’ve already forgiven you.”  
  
The look of surprise on Merlin’s face is something to behold but Arthur is more distracted by the fact that all of the people in the crowd disappear. “You don’t care?” he said.   
  
“Oh, I care. That doesn’t mean you’re not still my friend.”  
  
Merlin’s face lights up at the word friend. And he is a friend. Perhaps the only true friend Arthur has ever had. He’s so taken aback by the realization that he doesn’t flinch away when Merlin tugs him into a tight embrace. The executioner’s block starts to melt away and the contact is enough to make Arthur worry about it. This isn’t a good thing. Over Merlin’s shoulder, he sees someone lurking. The Man With No Face, angled toward them. “Merlin,” he whispers. “You know we have a problem here, right?”  
  
He follows Arthur’s gaze, the colour draining from already pale cheeks. “We should run.” The Man With No Face takes a step toward him. “Oh we should definitely run.”  
  
But there’s nowhere to run. They’re not in the courtyard anymore because there is no courtyard, just the castle and that thought stops being disturbing the second Merlin pulls away and starts off down the corridor. The make it to Gaius’s laboratory, both of them panting as Arthur bolts the door behind them.  
  
Gaius is no longer there, has never existed and Arthur sinks to his knees as a fierce pain rips through his skull. Gaius is not here but he knows Gaius exists. So many of his memories with Merlin are tied up in the older man, so many moments like Merlin dying slowly of poison Arthur rides off for the flower that will save his life, Gaius keeping him alive.   
  
He will not lose these memories. Because if he starts to lose even the memories tied to Merlin, what will be left of him?  
  
The pain doesn’t subside but Arthur has braved far worse has been (dying from the wound inflected by the Questing beast) injured in battle more than he’d like to count. He opens his eyes and sees Merlin the boy, hiding under the table. There’s a phrase stuck in his head. It's a woman voice but he can’t picture her face,  _he stopped the magic but he splintered in the process._  
  
“Gaius is gone,” the Merlin from the chopping block says, his voice thick with grief. “I knew this was going to happen.”  
  
“Merlin,” Arthur says, moving toward the boy.   
  
The older Merlin follows his gaze, his face twisting in confusion. “Who are you?”  
  
“Merlin,” the boy retorts, sticking his chin out in defiance.   
  
“He’s you,” Arthur says. The phrase is almost unnecessary. The looks on the faces are nearly identical. While he’s seen sorcerers who could alter appearances flawlessly, that expression could not be anything but Merlin. “You’ve split yourself apart somehow. I think you’ve got to pull yourself together if you want to have any hope of fixing this.”  
  
“This is my fault,” Merlin whispers.  
  
“For Christ’s sake, Merlin get a hold of yourself.”  
  
 _(Then I guess you’ve better find a way to put him back together.)_  
  
“You’re the piece who feels guilty,” the boy says.  
  
“And you’re just the boy I used to be.”  
  
“Merlin,” Arthur groans. “I don’t care about who feels guilty or if it’s your fault. Just fix it. Now.”  
  
It’s the younger Merlin who moves first, who extends his hand toward his counterpart, the other Merlin looks for a moment like he might flinch away but he catches Arthur’s eyes and then, decision made, he grasps the boy’s hands in his own.  
  
Arthur tries to keep his eyes open but a golden light is building in front of him and he can’t see.  
  
He wakes up in his own bed, to Merlin’s cheery voice. “Breakfast.”  
  
His quarters are spotless which pings at his memory, Merlin may be a good friend and confidant, but he is not good at many of the menial tasks his position as manservant requires.  
  
The eggs are perfectly cooked and not the slightest bit cold. Merlin stands at attention. “What’s wrong with you?” Arthur demands.   
  
The look on Merlin’s face is confused yet vacant and Arthur sits straight up at high alert.  
  
“Nothing, sire.” He moves proficiently around the room, sweeping up the clutter.   
  
Arthur catches him by the wrist, craving contact for reasons that escape him until his hand closes around flesh. “Oh, God. I didn’t think this part of you actually existed.”  
  
“Sire?”  
  
“You’re the part of Merlin that’s actually not a rubbish servant.”   
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“Right,” Arthur says, tightening his hold on his hand. “We’re off to find the rest of you before the world unravels completely.”  
  
Arthur doesn’t like this Merlin. He doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t tease him and isn’t his friend. This Merlin is hollow. He responds to every order, seems to almost anticipate his needs, but there's nothing else there. Arthur doesn’t last ten minutes before he turns to snap; “That’s enough, Merlin. This isn’t you.” He hasn’t let Merlin’s hand free but he hasn’t complained.  
  
“You want me to go fix it?” Merlin asks, bewildered.  
  
“If you can.”  
  
“But why? I would have though you preferred me like this?”  
  
“Merlin,” he says, exasperated. “I like you. I don’t know why I have to say it outright but like this, you’re… not you. I want my friend back and to do that, I need you whole. We can beat this thing, Merlin. I just need your help.”  
  
Merlin smiles at him, really smiles and for a second he looks like the real Merlin, Arthur’s Merlin. “I’m going to have to go then. I’ll be back.”  
  
Arthur finds himself tugging Merlin’s hand back to him, unwilling to lose the memories that come along with contact. “What happens to me if you leave?”  
  
The smile softens. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says. “Just stay away from The Man With No Face.”  
  
When Merlin gently tugs his hand away from Arthur, his eyes fog. He forgets where he is again, stands up, looking toward his armour. It’s badly dented and frustration bubbles up inside of him but he’s not actually angry with Merlin. Usually in a situation like this, he would be angry with Merlin but that’s not what it is. It’s something different.   
  
There’s a draft in the room coming from a space in the wall but Arthur can’t see a source. For a minute he imagines that there is a hole that cuts through the wall so there is a view of a vast town, a courtyard with a gallows and behind it all, a forest.   
  
But that’s preposterous. There is nothing outside the castle. The entire world is here.   
  
He stares at the space in the wall for almost an hour until the phantom draft disappears and then he forgets why he is even standing here.  
  
He grabs his sword from the pile but forgoes the rest of his armour, moving out of his chambers and into the hallway. He has a prickling sensation in the back of his neck that feels like he’s being watched. He’s cautious as he rounds the corner and is rewarded as he sees the Man With No Face gliding through the hall. He presses back against the wall and jolts when a second later Merlin calls his name.  
  
He looks different. Not in any definable way, but he seems more solid like this, more like a whole person than just a facet of one. “He’s still out there,” Merlin says. “We’ve got to get away from him.”  
  
“What’s he doing?” Arthur demands, peering around to corner to watch The Man With No Face disappear into a different room. “Is this his fault? Tell me, Merlin.”  
  
Merlin follows his gaze, going so far as to step into the corridor. Arthur yanks him back, weathering the blast of emotions and memories that swirl back into his person with ease. “Who is he?”  
  
“He’s dangerous,” Merlin says. “He’s dangerous and the world’s going white and I don’t know how to protect you.”  
  
“I’m crown prince of Camelot, I don’t need protection from my  _manservant_.”  
  
The look Merlin tosses him is equal parts fond and exasperated but he doesn’t say anything.   
  
“This isn’t all of you is it?” Arthur asks the knowledge tearing through him. “There more. Other pieces strewn through Camelot.”  
  
“The castle,” Merlin corrects lightly. “There is nothing outside of this, not anymore.”  
  
Arthur takes a steadying breath. He paints a picture of Camelot in his mind. The sprawling town that surrounds the castle. The forest where he’d hunted. Ealdor and the towns dotting the border of Cendrid’s land. If he holds it in his mind, he thinks, maybe it will come back. Maybe… “Do you think you can fix this?”  
  
Merlin shakes his head. “Not like this I can’t.” He flexes his fingers, a tiny golden spark flickering between them. “My magic’s not all here.”  
  
“Then one of the other pieces has it,” Arthur reasons, ignoring the betrayal that stabs in his gut every time he has to connect Merlin to magic. He has forgiven his friend—he has to if he wants to survive this—but the betrayal of trust is a long way from forgotten. “So we find the piece that has the rest of it and you can fix it.”  
  
“Maybe,” Merlin hedges.   
  
“We have a plan then,” Arthur declares. He checks the hallway to ensure the Man With No Face has disappeared. “Come on. Let’s find the rest of you.”  
  
Merlin looks decidedly unenthusiastic by the prospect. Arthur can’t let him think about that. Reconstructing Merlin has become his only priority. In face of a clearly magical task like this, Arthur is hopeless. Though it pains him to admit it, if Merlin falls today, Camelot falls.  
  
And Arthur will not abandon Camelot.   
  
He tugs Merlin behind him, intending on locating a stronghold where The Man No Face cannot find them. “You can’t go that way,” a voice says from behind them. “ _He’s_  already been there, there’s nothing to find.”  
  
Arthur turns on his heels, not surprised to find another, almost identical version of his friend behind him. This Merlin has a more serious cast to his face, his eyes sharp and focused. It’s all the guile Arthur had previously though his manservant incapable. The part that had successfully managed to keep his magic a secret. He has a scar slashing through his right eye, something Arthur has not seen before and suspects the real Merlin had helped heal with magic. “Follow me,” he says and Arthur finds himself obeying without question, dragging the other Merlin along behind him.  
  
Merlin leads him to a cavern under the castle. He’s known of its existence for ages. When he was eight years old, he’d taken Morgana by the hand as she led him into the caves. “I’m going to show you something amazing,” she’d said. “Trust me.”  
  
They’d sat huddled up against each other the entire night, watching the dragon soaring above them, the enchanted chain that kept them safe from his wrath stretched taut. He feels a pang in his stomach at the thoughts of his almost sister, faded along with Gwen and the whole of Camelot. He pushes the thoughts angrily from his mind as the scarred Merlin grabs a torch from the wall. “We should be safe here for a moment.”  
  
“For a moment?”  
  
The other Merlin tightens the grip on his hand, looking impossibly young in the dim light. “There’s nowhere safe anymore.”  
  
“Is it  _him_  who’s done this?” Arthur demands. “Was he the one who split you apart?”  
  
“Who says it’s something someone did to me?” The scarred Merlin approaches his counterpart, examining him critically. “Who’s to say I’m not better off like this? It’s certainly easier to sneak around without the rest of me.”  
  
“This isn’t natural.”  
  
“None of this is,” he says. “We’re not going to be safe here for long.”  
  
“And why not?”  
  
The scarred Merlin lowers the torch, illuminating Arthur’s right hand. “Tell me, sire, what happened to your sword?”  
  
Arthur follows his gaze downward. His hand is compulsively clutched in a fist where it should be wrapped around the hilt. “That’s…”  
  
“That’s the world unravelling,” the scarred Merlin confirms. “And forgive me, but I’m not the part who is hopelessly devoted to this cause. I think it’s very likely you’re going to unravel next. No matter what the dragonlord says about destiny.”  
  
“The dragonlord?”  
  
Merlin barks out a harsh laugh. “You wouldn’t like the dragonlord. You don’t even like me. This is the first you’ve even acknowledged my existence.”  
  
“Just because I didn’t know doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”  
  
“It’s nothing personal,” the Merlin at his side says. “There are parts of you I don’t care for.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Arthur sputters.   
  
“Except,” the scarred Merlin cuts in, “for the part where you are a complete and utter prat.”  
  
Arthur stares but both Merlins are grinning at one another and he can’t quite bring himself to anger. “Fine,” he says. “We’ve acknowledge that there are parts of you I don’t like. According to you there are parts of me who are a  _prat_  but that doesn’t change the fact that magic sounds like it’s the only thing we have left that could actually  _fix this_. And unless I’m very much mistake, you might not like me but Camelot is gone.”  
  
“Gwen,” the scarred Merlin says. "Morgana."  
  
“Gaius,” says the other.  
  
“So answer me this,” Arthur says. “How many more parts of you are there and how can we know which one holds your magic?”  
  
“There are only three of us left,” the scarred Merlin says. “There used to be more than twenty. There were alliances formed. Myself and the dragonlord had decided that we would have been better off on our own.”  
  
“Is it the dragonlord who has the magic?”  
  
“Not all of it,” the Merlin at his side says.   
  
By way of explanation, the scarred Merlin raises a hand and the torch sticks in the air.   
  
Despite the inborn hatred of magic, it’s hard for Arthur not to be fascinated by the display.   
  
The other Merlin looks at the torch, a smile ghosting over his face. “Most of the magic I have is only good for doing chores but it's something.”  
  
“And I find it a bit hard to believe any part of you called a dragonlord is completely free of magic.”  
  
“So what?” the scarred Merlin snaps. “We pull ourselves together and than everything’s good? It doesn’t work like that.” He jabs his fingers toward the only exit from the caverns. “We’re still going to have to deal with something like that.”  
  
There is a nebulous white space down what used to be a corridor. The castle’s gone, Arthur realizes. This tiny cavern may be the last thing left in the known universe.  
  
“Perhaps,” a cavernous voice says from behind them, “this is simply our destiny.”  
  
Arthur freezes. There’s power in a voice like that. It’s low, rumbling and it sounds like it’s coming from something massive. “Merlin,” Arthur says slowly. “Please tell me there’s not a part of you who’s actually a dragon.”  
  
The scarred Merlin smirks. The other Merlin stares, mouth agape. Arthur turns around. The dragon before him is indeed massive, but something around the eyes rings of his manservant despite the scales. He entertains the briefest image of the beast in one of Merlin’s neckerchiefs before it suddenly ceases to be destiny.  
  
“Just because you look like the Great Dragon doesn’t mean you have to start talking like him," the scarred Merlin says.  
  
“I though dragonlords were people,” Arthur sputters. “I mean I thought they’d all died out, but I’m pretty sure they were people.”  
  
“Don’t look at me,” the scarred Merlin retorts. “I hate the dragon. I thought I’d be above imitating him, dragonlord or no.”  
  
“We will never defeat him apart,” the dragonlord intones. “We are parts of the same whole.”  
  
“He’s coming,” the Merlin still holding his hand says. “We’ve got to try something now or we’re all going to die.”  
  
All three versions of Merlin turn at once to stare at Arthur, as if asking permission. The Man With No Face is advancing toward them, leaving a wake of white nothingness swirling behind him.   
  
“Then it’s settled,” the scarred Merlin says, looking displeased but resolute. In a single movement, he steps forward seizing the Dragonlord with his left hand and the Merlin next to Arthur with his right.   
  
The rest of the world melts as blinding light bites at Arthur’s eyes. His grip on Merlin’s hand is the only thing tying him to this place, the only thing that keeps him from fading to the unyielding white like Camelot had. Like Gwen had. Like Morgana had.   
  
When the world swims back into focus, there is only one version of Merlin. He knows without asking that it is his version of Merlin. The one who’d fought him the day they met, who’d saved his life, who’d bumped shoulders with him walking down hallways and made him laugh when the weight of the kingdom threatened to weigh him down.   
  
It’s Merlin,  _his Merlin_.  
  
In fact, the only thing left in the whole of existence, is the prince and his manservant.  
  
And the Man With No Face.  
  
“There’s nowhere to hide,” he tells Merlin. “We’re going to have to fight.”  
  
Merlin looks ill at the thought but he nods slightly.  
  
“I haven’t got a sword,” Arthur says. “It’s gone just like everything else. Stand with me. Between myself and your magic we can still hold it off.”  
  
The Man With No Face seems to fixate on Merlin, gliding through the blank expanse like a ghost. Arthur should be scared, should recognize this a battle he will not win. But he glances to their hands, still linked together and thinks, recklessly, that as long as he has Merlin at his side, they can beat anything.  
  
Then Merlin lets go. 


	4. confrontation

Arthur fades the instant Merlin lets go of his hand and Merlin finds himself reaching for the empty place where he’d been. It’s a mistake. He knows that in his heart, it’s a mistake just like he’s realized letting Morgana fade was a mistake. He reaches for the empty space where Arthur used to be but he doesn’t find a thing.  
  
There’s not a soul left in the universe except for him and The Man With No Face. There’s nowhere left to run. No one left as a buffer and his magic is failing him. He can still feel the power of the dragonlord curling in his stomach but the other part’s missing. It’s the part of him he doesn’t particularly want back. The part of him that is willing to do the unspeakable without hesitation. The missing part tied to the dark magic. If he could be whole without it, Arthur would still be here.  
  
But he isn't whole and he doesn’t want Arthur to see.  
  
The Man With No Face is looking at him and finally, Merlin is ready to acknowledge what he is. “I don’t want you here.”   
  
“You haven't got a choice,” the man says and when he steps forward the blank slate of his face shifts, his features crystallizing, sprouting out in relief as if by magic. “I’m the only thing left in the universe. You don’t exist without me.”  
  
But he does. Merlin knows he does because he doesn’t feel that same jagged hole in his being like he has since this thing began. His magic is here but it’s not this all-consuming alien thing. He feels settled, comfortable in his own skin for the first time he can remember but the sentiment seems ridiculous when his exact double is standing in front of him, identical in every aspect for the gold light that shines in his eyes.   
  
It's him: His magic twisted into human form, the seduction of it, the amorality.   
  
Merlin as he is now would never consider sacrificing Mordred on the dragon's word alone. Can't imagine Morgana will ever be anything but a friend to him.  
  
"You've already betrayed them," says the magic. "You've let me take them away. It's the only way to keep them safe. And you want to keep them safe, don't you?"  
  
"Safe from what?" Merlin demands. "There's nothing left! Camelot is gone! Arthur is gone. Destiny doesn't exist anymore."  
  
"And who's fault is that?" the magic's voice is distressingly calm and the man in front of him never moves his mouth to speak. "It was you, not I who let go of the Prince."   
  
Guilt clenches at Merlin's stomach but he doesn't let it get to him. "It wasn't me. I wasn't the one who let him go."  
  
"You wanted him safe."  
  
"This isn't safe! Nothing's left of him. He's as good as dead."  
  
The man smiles at him, a thin alien thing that doesn't look at all like Merlin himself.   
  
"I don't need you." Merlin snaps, pulling at the magic that still resides inside him. "I'm going to fix it."  
  
"You mean to kill me?"   
  
"I don't want to kill anyone." The bottomless pit of magic he'd always felt isn't there. There's a faint glimmer, yes, but nothing like it's supposed to be.  
  
Only it was never supposed to be like that. If the golden-eyed figure in front of him was any indication, he'd expelled that part of him, purging it from his being like one of Gaius's illnesses. He feels different somehow. Lighter. More human.   
  
"You cannot defeat me."  
  
Merlin thinks of Arthur standing in front of him, facing an impossible enemy and then the magic starts to whirl into being. If he was the one who tore this world apart, he can put it back together.   
  
A picture of Arthur swirls into his mind and he latches onto it, tries to build from it, all of the thousand little points that make up a person. Because it's not just the looks that make up a person. It's the memories, the personality, the arrogance on top of chivalry, the entitlement wrapped around a genuinely good person.   
  
He builds Arthur up out of memories, stretches until the vision contains Gaius, Morgana, Gwen and even Uther. He tries to picture the rest of it, Camelot spiralling out from the castle, Ealdor over the border, the forests, the other kingdom. He fills his head with it, closing his eyes so he can picture everything. When the picture in his mind is as complete as he can get it, he starts to push, gasping as the magic pours out of him.  
  
And it  _hurts_. It hurts more than it ever has before. It feels like it did when this started, like he is tearing himself apart to better get at the magic. But when he opens his eyes, there's nothing in front of him but a whisper of Arthur, the faintest shadow of the man that should be there. Merlin reaches for the spectre, grabbing instinctively for his hand. He'd kept Arthur here for as long as he did because he didn't let go.  
  
But there's no hand to grab, the phantom evaporating on contact and Merlin is left in a sea of white with only his counterpart for company.  
  
"We cannot survive like this," Merlin says.  
  
"Who said anything about your survival? I will remain, of course, I was here far before you and will be here far after. You, I expect, will merely starve to death."  
  
Just like that Merlin gets it, wonders how he could have possibly missed it his whole life. He'd always known the magic was something wild, that left to its own devices, it is prone to chaos.   
  
This is the magic left to its own devices, blended in with all the parts of himself he doesn't acknowledge exist. He's not Nimueh. He doesn't need that feeling of lightning dancing under his skin, but he was born to it. It's his job, his burden, his destiny, to keep that magic in check.  
  
Which means he needs it back. If he doesn't take it back the whole world's going to stay this way and he can't have that, doesn't want that. He makes a wild grab for his counterpart and gasps as it all comes flooding back, the fear, the chaos, the confusion,  _the magic_. It enfolds him, seeping into every part of his being. It hurts, but it's a familiar kind of hurt. He's chosen this now. Sure there'd been an impossible situation surrounding it, but this is his magic, his darkness.  
  
And that means he can control it.   
  
He opens his eyes, staring into the vast expanse of nothingness and pledges that this will never happen again, that he won't let anyone—not Mordred, not Morgana and not even Arthur—cause Camelot's destruction.  
  
He opens his eyes and they flash gold.


	5. absolution

It's dark when Morgana wakes up. She sits for a moment, clutching at her sheets and blinking into the darkness while her eyes adjust to the scene. Her hands clutch against the fine sheets, and the texture of then surprises her. She feels off-kilter, like she has been dreaming, only she can't remember.  
  
She pulls herself shakily to her feet, nightgown swirling around ankles as she makesher way to the window. She nearly gasps at the sight outside.  
  
There are  _stars_  spanning the sky, hundreds of thousands of them. She sits down next to the window, craning her neck so she can see more of them, spiralling up to the heavens and into infinite possibilities.  
  
Gwen finds her there the next morning, curled up against the stone wall, her face still cast toward the sky even in sleep. "What in heavens are you doing, Morgana?" she asks. "Did you have another one of your dreams?"  
  
"No," she answers immediately, but though she can't remember, she thinks the answer might indeed be  _yes_. "I woke up and saw the stars."  
  
"The stars, milady?" Gwen asked, her eyebrow raised.  
  
"They're beautiful," Morgana whispers. "It's almost as if I've never seen them before."  
  
"They'll be there tomorrow night," Gwen assures her. "And the next."  
  
Morgana stands shakily, her knee protesting the long night spent against the cold stone. She feels different somehow, like she's missed something huge. "Gwen," she says finally, "do you know where I can find Merlin?"  
  
"Arthur's on the practice field." If Gwen's surprised by her query, she doesn't show it. "I expect Merlin will be attending to him as normal."  
  
It's all Morgana can do to keep from dashing to the practice field half dressed. She lets Guinevere attend to her, but skips her usual leisurely breakfast in favour of making her way to Merlin.  
  
Merlin's exactly where Gwen predicted, leaning against the wall as Arthur runs his knights through drill after drill, correcting tactical errors from the most recent magical invasion. Morgana approaches Merlin slowly, coughing to get his attention. He jumps at the sound, spinning around to meet her and just for a second, she sees a flash of something, sees a man with no face, but it's gone as soon as his face settles into a smile. "Morgana! How are you this morning?"  
  
"Very well," she says, picking her words carefully. "But you must think I look a mess. I've spent most of the evening watching the stars."  
  
"The stars?" he echoes, voice tinged with something she doesn't want to recognize.  
  
"I had a dream, I think," Morgana says. "I dreamed the stars disappeared. When I woke up, I felt I must watch them for the rest of the night to make sure nothing else changed. It seems silly now, but I feel like I've missed something grand."  
  
"You haven't." Merlin's voice is unusually short. "Everything is as it should be."  
  
On the practice field Arthur runs his knights through the drills again. "What's brought this on?" she asks. "They've suffered great losses in the past few weeks, I'm surprised Arthur has not simply instructed them to rest."  
  
"We came very close to the end of things." Merlin sounds weary. Far more weary than she has ever heard. It is hard to think of him as anything but the Prince's shadow. Still, she has these pictures in her head, faded like a half-forgotten dream: pictures of Merlin ending a terrible battle with only the power of his mind and a scared boy dragging her away from a man with no face. Merlin looks like little more than a boy but sometimes he speaks and he sounds ancient, infused with power and wisdom too great for his age.   
  
It occurs to Morgana, however distantly, that this is the most dangerous man she has ever met.   
  
She clears her throat. "I've had dreams lately. Terrible things. I dream of a coming darkness and a fight that will be spoken of throughout history… and I fear we may end up on opposite sides."  
  
Merlin turns back to the practice field where Arthur has finally dismissed the knights. "I will stand by Arthur," he says. "Always."  
  
Morgana feels a chill sweep through her despite the heat. She would not want to face the two of them united, but she knows she cannot side with Arthur so long as he remains Uther's loyal son. "For now though," she says. "For now we are friends."  
  
"Merlin!" Arthur calls. "Get over here. I need you to actually do some  _work_."  
  
"Of course we're friends," Merlin says, the glimmer of power in his voice vacating to leave just the boy. "We'll be friends as long as we are able."  
  
Arthur is already moving back toward the castle. Merlin jogs after him, smiling good-naturedly and they fall into step side by side. 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, there was wicked good art by thisissirius you should check out: [[Link](http://thisissirius.livejournal.com/648612.html)]


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